


london fog

by waveydnp



Series: alittlewavey fic-a-thon [19]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 03:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: phil wakes up in his new house with a headache and a lot of thoughts





	london fog

**Author's Note:**

> bingo square: forever home

Phil wakes up with a headache. 

It’s not an uncommon occurrence, but instead of making it routine, something he’s adjusted to, the frequency with which he starts his day with pounding temples and sore eyes feels more and more unfair every time.

Dan is still sleeping. The curtains they bought last week are drawn over the windows, but Phil can still tell it’s morning. There’s a dull glow behind the thin grey fabric.

He gets out of bed carefully. Dan doesn’t sleep heavily, and the sleep he does come by is hard earned. Phil wouldn’t dream of waking him, no matter how much he may enjoy his partner’s company when the unfairness of it all makes him want to bitch and moan to someone he knows understands. 

Dan understands why a headache makes Phil want to cry, and it has nothing to do with the pain. Dan understands, and Phil understands why sometimes Dan also wants to cry for reasons beyond the ones that are obvious. Like when he spends all day sat in front of an empty word doc with a head full of ideas that won’t allow themselves to transfer to physical form. Those are the days the world feels unfair to Dan, just as it feels that way right now for Phil.

He takes care of himself. He eats well when he’d rather not, he drinks water where he’d prefer something with flavour. He goes out for walks and joins Dan for yoga when he’d rather be slumped on the sofa playing video games. He still has nights where he stays up too late, but last night wasn’t one of them.

So why does the universe see fit to bestow him with these goddamn headaches all the time? 

He grabs his jeans and a hoodie and dodges the boxes to head down the hall to the bathroom, where he downs some painkillers and brushes his teeth. He spits and rinses and looks at his reflection.

He almost doesn’t recognize the man who looks back at him. He’d swear the lines around his eyes become more prominent every day. He looks tired in a way he never used to before. He looks like Martyn, a bit. He searches, but any real traces of youth seem to have faded for good. 

Maybe they went with the fringe. Maybe they went with his decision to try harder to be true to himself.

That probably doesn’t make sense, but his head hurts. He’s got an excuse. And he knows the quiff makes him look older. Some days that feels like a good thing. He _is_ older, so why shouldn’t he look it? It’s a physical maturation to go along with all the emotional ones.

He’s also happier. They both are. The last year has brought about so much that makes him feel free and safe and settled. They survived the tour. They came out. They bought the house. They finally get to take a breath.

He wishes he was more like Dan. Dan seems to love all the little physical things that prove how long they’ve been sharing the same life. He loves the salt at Phil’s temples, the crow’s feet that accompany his smiles.

To Phil, it’s just scary. He has no control over it, and it’s not going to stop. There is no robot body waiting for him, no technology as of yet that can transport his soul into a vessel that won’t slowly wither until it can’t support him anymore.

He can’t even think about it. It’s terrifying. 

He ducks his head down to splash some cold water on his face. He definitely needs to break that particular train of thought. Existential fear is definitely not going to help get rid of a burgeoning migraine.

He lifts his head back up and sees a flash of ginger. His hair is a different colour now. He’d kind of forgotten. He’s not used to seeing the little touches of warmth that dark brown allows for where black did not. He’s not even sure he likes it, but he hopes that’s just because of his tendency to hate change. 

Dan says it looks good. He says it suits.

All Phil can think of is how many times Dan’s told him over the years that the black brings out his eyes. 

He forgoes showering and gets dressed. He needs to get out, he’s decided. He needs fresh air and things to look at and things to ponder beyond the fleeting nature of life as he knows it. 

He writes a note for Dan and leaves it on his pillow. _head hurts, going for a walk. love you_

It’s autumn proper now. The air is cool and damp, fog covering London with a misty filter that desaturates in a calming sort of way. Dan would like it. Phil wishes he were here. 

There aren’t that many people out yet. It’s still early. 

Luckily most coffee shops are already open before the sun’s even risen. He walks past more than a couple cute cafés that he knows Dan would be disappointed to ignore in favour of the corporate overlords at Starbucks, but Phil wants a PSL. He wants the stuff that tastes like sugar and artificial pumpkin. 

He buys a venti, and a couple pumpkin scones. They’re not vegan but Dan is only human. If he truly doesn’t want one, Phil will have them both. Waking up with a headache means he’s allowed to be bad.

He eats the whipped cream off the top of the drink right there at the bar. The barista laughs and says, “Too good not to, yeah?”

Phil smiles sheepishly. The bloke is cute. He’s got flaming red hair and a face full of freckles. 

He looks young. Phil puts a lid on his drink and gives the barista an awkward goodbye before he can start having another crisis about the inevitability of aging. 

He lets his feet take him wherever they please until his drink is gone and his fingers are cold. The traffic on the pavement is starting to pick up, and the pain in his head feels muted, so he turns around and heads for home. 

He’s got no concept of how low he was gone, but the flat is still quiet when he gets back. He toes off his shoes and leaves the scones in the kitchen, then climbs the stairs up to a room still littered with half unpacked boxes and the big bed he shares with Dan.

Dan, who is still asleep. Phil can hear his breathing, quiet and even. He takes off his jeans and crawls under the blanket, sighing at the warmth that envelops him as he fits his body up against the back of Dan’s. 

He drapes his arm over Dan’s waist loosely, and even in sleep, Dan takes that arm and pulls him in closer.

He’s only got a bit of a headache when he falls back to sleep.


End file.
